


Cold Hands

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Saint Seiya prompts & short fic [115]
Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drabble, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Prompt Fic, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: (Warm Heart)Camus and Milo, and a night together in the cold, frozen north.





	Cold Hands

**Author's Note:**

> From a batch of prompts I did over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com). This was previously posted in a drabble collection 'Saint Seiya: Soulmates’, that I have chosen to take down and post individually for ease of access. The premise of all of these was that the first words the soulmates spoke to each other are written somewhere on their skin in the person's handwriting, with a unique color, never black. Black words indicate a dead soulmate. You can touch the words and they will give you feelings that indicate whether the soulmate is romantic or platonic.
> 
> Original author's note: This one is just sex. Sorry? @versailles-fairytale was telling me they hadn’t seen nearly enough of Camus topping. Also temperature play, established relationship, and having to be super quiet because there’s a 14 and a 12 year old sleeping in the other room (Isaac & Hyôga). (Originally posted 9-22-2017)

Milo whines quietly as cold fingers glide over his skin, and he grabs the offending hand, tugging Camus into bed and under the covers. He squeaks softly a few seconds later.

“Cooold,” he whines, scootching a bit away from Camus. Camus chuckles.

“Sorry, Rôshi kept me out kind of late.” He whispers, and Milo whines softly again. Camus’s cold fingers find his skin again, wrapping his arms around Milo’s torso and pinching his nipples. Milo moans softly. Emboldened, Camus traces his fingers over his words in Milo’s skin, Cyrillic letters spiraled around one nipple.

_‘Your eyes look like the ocean.’_

He closes his slightly warmer mouth over nipple and words alike, and Milo moans again, pushing his hips back against Camus’s. Camus smiles against his skin.

“Besides, if I was so cold you couldn’t tolerate it, you wouldn’t be pushing back into me like this,” he whispers, squeezing Milo’s warm ass. He also seems to have gone to bed naked, and that’s just an invitation. Literally, Milo had told him that if he ever came to bed naked, he wanted sex. And, both of them being eighteen, hormones dictated they had a lot of sex. He twists away briefly, getting on a condom, and getting the bottle of lube and slicking up his fingers. Milo whines softly at his absence, and Camus chuckles.

“You’re going to have to be quiet, Mishka, the boys are asleep,” he breathes into Milo’s ear, pushing two slick, cold fingers into Milo’s body. Milo arches beautifully, biting on a knuckle to stifle a soft cry, breathing ragged already. “Oh, you’ve been aching for it, haven’t you?” He uses a tiny thread of Cosmo to keep his fingers and the lube cold- not too uncomfortably cold, just cold enough to be on the edge. He knows how Milo likes it, despite all of his claims to hate the cold. He drops into Russian, murmuring filthy praise into Milo’s ears as he fingers him open.

Soon he has Milo writhing on three fingers, and pulls them out, ignoring his soft whine of protest. He slicks up his cock, finding the handtowel they keep on the bedside table, wiping off his fingers and passing it to Milo to shove under his hips so they don’t make a mess of the sheets. Milo rolls onto his belly, and Camus shifts atop him, guiding himself into Milo’s tight heat. Only Cosmo keeps the skin of his cock cold, Milo is always so hot inside. He plants his knees on either side of Milo’s hips and catches his wrists with his hands, pinning them above the blond’s head. His words, written in the palm of his hand, burn him with excitement where he’s caught Milo to him, short, choppy handwriting spelling; _‘Ah- thank you? What did you just say?’._ Camus hadn't been very good at Greek, and his words had come out in Russian, after all, a language Milo hadn't yet been able to speak.

He keeps the slide slow and deep, until Milo is twitching and writhing, trying to shove himself back onto Camus’s cock, face buried in the pillows to muffle his shouts and curses. Then, he takes mercy, fucking Milo hard and fast until Milo squeezes like a vice around him, sobbing and shivering as he comes, hard. Camus comes not long after, fucking Milo through his orgasm with a whispered litany of Russian praise, until it peters out into a muffled moan. Camus releases the spell, letting the heat of Milo’s body warm them both back up.

In a moment he’ll get up, get them both cleaned up so they can sleep, but for now he’s content to press sweet kisses to his soulmate’s shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
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End file.
